It's Been The Worst Day Since Yesterday
by mamapranayama
Summary: Right after their encounter with the cursed rabbit's foot, Dean doesn't think that their luck could get any worse. Boy, was he mistaken. Tag to BDABR. Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Dean. Lots of whumpage to go around.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: yadda, yadda, yadda...not mine...blah, blah, blah...legal stuff...etc, etc, etc...

A/N: This story gets its name from a great Flogging Molly song. Hope you enjoy. :D

Summary: After the events of 'Bad day at Black Rock', Dean doesn't think their luck can get any worse. Boy, was he mistaken. Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Dean.

**It's Been The Worst Day Since Yesterday**

**Part One- Falling Down to You, Sweet Ground**

Just when you think things can't get any worse is when they usually did. At least that was always Dean's philosophy. It didn't take a cursed rabbit's foot to tell him that their family had a tendency to fall into some majorly crappy luck and always would. The last name of Winchester was synonymous with misfortune and the last day had only cemented those feelings as he grabbed a pair of forceps and dug them deep into his wounded little brother's shoulder.

"Ahhhh...gahhhhhh." Sam was nearly in tears as he probed the wound that had been so generously bestowed upon Sam by that black-hearted bitch, Bela and searched for the bullet that lay hidden within the muscle. It was embedded deep and even though Sam tried to put on a brave show and not let on exactly how much it hurt to have the bullet ripped from his tender flesh, he squirmed anyway.

"Hold still, will ya?" Dean grumbled holding tight to Sam's good shoulder while his other hand worked the stainless steel tool, wincing a little himself, knowing how much it had to hurt to have the projectile removed, it almost hurt him as much to hear his little brother's grunts of pain. He promised himself that when they finally caught up to Bela that he was going to show her just how much 'just a shoulder wound' could hurt and then some.

Dean felt metal make contact with metal. "Almost got it." He assured Sam, opening the forceps up a little to get a good hold on the bullet, praying that it wouldn't slip out of their grasp. Sam screwed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, growling deep within his throat until Dean finally had the sucker and pulled.

"Breathe out, Sammy." He instructed the younger man as he held tight to the forceps and drew back the tool, the instrument and bullet sliding out of the wound.

Sam made a deep, grunting noise as the bullet and forceps made a sickening sucking sound coming out.

A deep-throated sigh of relief followed next from Sam's lips, panting heavily as Dean dropped the little trouble maker onto the table beside of him along with the forceps. Dean himself, let out a gust of breath to finally have it out.

Not finished with patching his brother up just yet, Dean reached for the cotton to pack the gushing wound and pressed firmly to staunch the flow while Sam raised the flask of whiskey he had been holding up to his lips with his shaking good hand, taking a long drink and made a face as the burning liquid made it's way down.

"Better?" He asked his still quivering sibling.

"No." Sam ground out between his clenched teeth, his anger a mask of the physical pain radiating off of him. "Promise me that when we find Bela again... that I get the first crack at her."

"No way, Bro. She's all mine." Dean countered, hoping to distract Sam from the pain as he made for the bottle of alcohol sitting next to the needle and thread that would seal up the hole.

"But she shot me." Sam came back indignantly.

"And she stole my lottery tickets."

"Excuse me." Sam came back sharply. "But I think that getting shot trumps stolen lottery tickets."

"Dude, there was almost $60,000 dollars there."

"But. She. Shot . Me!"

"Been shot for less..." Dean argued weakly only to be mowed down by the murderous look Sam sent careening his way. Dean shrugged, after being properly put in his place. "What? It's a lot of money, I' m just sayin..." He shrugged.

Now that his brother was thoroughly distracted, Dean made his move with the alcohol. He knew this was going to burn and hurt like a mother, but it had to be done, he just wished it didn't have to be him that inflicted any more pain on Sam. "You ready?" He asked, knowing that Sam knew what was coming next.

"No, but just do it." He replied as stoically as possible.

"Okay...hold tight." Dean instructed.

Dean began pouring, trying to block out the sounds that Sam made as he irrigated the wound. "Grrrrahhhholymotherof...fuuuuu" Sam's string of obscenities that followed would have made a sailor blush until Dean was satisfied that the hole was cleaned out well enough for stitches.

Sam let his head fall forward once the irrigation was done and Dean panicked for a moment, thinking that he was going to nose dive to the floor, grabbing his little brother around the waist before he fell. "Whoa, whoa...Sammy?"

"I'm okay..." Sam replied quietly, his hand curling around Dean's shirt for support before he lifted his now colorless face again and pulled himself back up with a little nod to show that he was still present and conscious, fighting the pain that he had to be pushing away in order to make such an effort.

Dean had to admit to himself that he was more than a little bit proud of Sam's ability to shrug it all off. But he was a Winchester, his father's son and he expected no less from him.

Stitching the hole in Sam's shoulder only took a few minutes, but when he searched for the gauze and tape needed to bandage it up, he came up with only a tiny piece of tape and only one small square of bandage barely big enough to cover the bullet hole.

"Sam? Where all of the bandages?" Dean dug around some more, pulling out a bottle of vicodin, the only painkiller they had strong enough for bullet wounds and shook it. That too was empty. "This too?"

"Oh...uh. Well..." Sam started sheepishly. "I had to use a bunch of the bandages on my knees after I fell when I used the rest when I burned my arm...and after the pounding those two morons gave me, I took some of the vicodin, but I didn't realize I had taken the last of it...Sorry."

"Great. You're a walking disaster, you know that?"

"Not anymore. Rabbit's foot is toast."

"Oh really?" Dean snorted. "If I recall right, you've always been a magnet for trouble. Remember that time in when you were in high school in Virginia?"

"I was pushed by a ghost." Sam defended himself

"No...I was there...you tripped over your big clown feet down a flight of stairs and broke your arm in three places. Then there was the time you fell down that abandoned well and got stuck halfway down...took Dad and I all night to grease you up enough to get you out..." Dean laughed at the memory of pouring bottle after bottle of vegetable oil all over his little brother.

"Okay...I get it." Sam came back irritatedly, not wanting to dwell on either one of those incidents. "I guess we need supplies." He changed the subject quickly.

"Yeah...I'll run out to the Walgreen's and restock. I'll pick us up some dinner too."

"Not hungry."

"Gotta eat, Sam."

"Right now, I'd rather just go to sleep and forget this day ever happened." Sam sighed and pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt back down over his shoulder with a wince, exhaustion marking his eyes and face. He laid back on the bed, careful not to jostle his hurting shoulder and closed his eyes wearily.

Dean couldn't agree more, Even by Winchester standards, it had been one hell of a shitty day thanks to that damned rabbit's foot, that damned thief, Bela and those two douchebags that tied Sam up and almost put a bullet in his brain. And with Sam taking the brunt of the fallout from the rabbit's foot, he needed rest and they both needed to put this craptacular day behind them and get out of New York as soon as daylight hit.

Sam was already practically asleep by the time Dean quietly closed the door and left the motel. The drugstore was only a couple of miles away and it didn't take him too long to load up a basket full of supplies. Procuring a new bottle of vicodin would be a little more problematic, but Dean thanked his forward thinking the last time he had been to the ER when he had swiped that prescription pad from his inattentive doctor. It was certainly far easier to write his own prescriptions rather than breaking into the pharmacy after hours, but the drawback of having to wait for it to be filled still remained.

So, after paying for several rolls of gauze, tape, bandages and a couple of new bottles of rubbing alcohol, he still had almost a half hour to kill. At least that gave him a little time to go and get something to eat. He was starving, having had hardly any time to eat the last couple of days and a nice juicy burger sounded extremely good right then, maybe some chili cheese fries and a big slice of cherry pie a la mode to go with it too. Oooh... and he'd have to pick up some more m&m's as well.

He made his way back to the car and froze just before he could put the key in the lock. Something tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, a pinging in his stomach telling him that something was off. He turned and looked in all directions, but saw and heard nothing. He still felt uneasy, his years of hunting had honed his gut into a fine-tuned instrument and he knew to take weird feelings seriously. He felt for the .45 he had tucked in his waistband and pulled it out, it's cool, heavy presence in his hand a comfort and a bolster to his confidence that if anything was out there, he'd be ready for it.

Chancing another look around the parking lot and still coming up empty, he continued to unlock the car door and get inside. Something telling him that it would be better to skip dinner and head back to the motel to check on Sam. Eating would just have to wait.

He slid inside and was just about to turn the key in the ignition when he felt a prick in his neck, burning fire entered his skin and seeped into his veins, immediately his vision swam, the fingers that had once gripped his handgun so tightly moments before lost feeling, letting the weapon clatter to the floor. Too late, he realized that he was not alone in the car and his limbs were too heavy to respond to the order from his brain to fight back.

As darkness flooded through him, he heard a voice saying, "Shhhh...That's it...time for a little nap, Winchester."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Though he was exhausted beyond measure, the sleep he so desired had gone bye-bye thanks to the fiery ache that went unabated in his shoulder. He tried to rest through it and stay in that twilight zone between full alertness and slumber, but the pain was becoming too much of a well...pain and he roused himself back to fully awake.

The room was utterly silent save for the leaky faucet in the bathroom and Sam stole a glance around. What he saw was disturbing. No greasy burger wrappers strewn about and no car keys thrown haphazardly into the nightstand and most worrying of all no big brother snoring away in the bed next to him.

Sam shot up, regretting the sudden motion, but pushing the soreness and instant dizziness aside, reaching for the cell phone in front of the clock, taking note of the time and realizing that Dean had been gone for over two hours, definitely far longer than it should have taken him to get to the drug store and back.

Flipping open the cell hurriedly, he speed dialed Dean's phone, cursing when it rang and rand and finally switched over to voice mail. Worry blossomed into frantic panic through Sam's chest. Possible scenarios for his brother's absence flickered through his brain like a strobe light. Dean hurt, lying in a ditch or attacked by werewolves or worse yet, him picking up a chick in some seedy bar and just not bothering to pick up his phone (which would be totally unlike Dean...he always loved to rub his sexual exploits in Sam's face).

Sam tried a second time. "C'mon...pick up the damn phone, Dean." He muttered, but again no sarcastic answer from his brother came across the line.

Dean would only not answer his phone if he was a). pissed as hell at him or b.) in serious trouble and since Sam couldn't recall making his brother angry besides using up almost all of the medical supplies in the last day and a half, he could only come to the cold conclusion that Dean was surely in some deep shit.

Dean had said he was going to Walgreen's and Sam recalled that the nearest one was only a mile or two away, he would start his search there, praying that Dean had merely run into car trouble and hadn't heard his phone.

Beating down the anxiety rising in his gut, he quickly found a pair of jeans and tugged them on, tucked his 9mm into the waistband then grabbed his flannel shirt, wincing as he stretched it over his injured shoulder. He would have grabbed a jacket too, but he simply did not have one left anymore. his favorite Carhardt had bit it thanks to that damn air-conditioner fire and his back up one had been tossed out as well after he had been shot. It would be chilly, but he'd live.

Just as he thought that, he stepped out of the door and was met with a blast of cold air and a loud clap of thunder, the first fat drops of rain, hitting him in the face. He buttoned up his shirt as well as he could to protect himself from the elements and took off in the direction Dean would have taken, the rain gaining in intensity with each step he took.

He kept to the shoulder of the road as there was no sidewalk present as cars rushed past him. The more he thought about it and the more it rained and slowed him down, the more he decided that he should have jacked a car. But Sam hated doing that, it was risky for one and it was kinda a dick move to the guy he stole the car from, especially if it turned out that Dean was alright. So he ran along the rocky path of the two-lane highway towards the little town they had been staying in the outskirts of, rain matting his hair and trickling into his eyes.

He was thoroughly soaked by the time the small downtown area came into eye shot and his head was a jumble of worried thoughts as he kept up the pace of his long-legged run. So focused was he on his goal, that he failed to truly take in his surroundings such as the steep drop-off beside the road that lead directly into a rain-swollen creek, nor the large tree root jutting out of the ground which his foot suddenly snagged and sent him sprawling and then falling. Sliding down the slope, unable to stop the pull of gravity and his momentum, he felt every downed tree limb, every rock and every bramble in his way. It felt like he would fall forever until he finally made splash-down into the freezing, muddy water.

Though he was falling no longer, he was still in motion as he struggled against the cold, raging current. The usually tranquil stream was now a river and a torrent of rapids. Just keeping his head above the water was exhausting as he was carried further along. Detritus and fallen branches floated along beside of him and one nasty branch in particular seemed to have it in for him as it smashed none to gently directly into his already injured shoulder. The pain was enough for him to see spots dance before his eyes and yell out, making holding his head above the surface that much more difficult.

Though the water wasn't deep and his feet dragged along the slick bottom, the current had become too powerful for him to stop himself and just breathing was becoming a chore as several times his head was pulled under, causing him to gasp as soon as he surfaced. Fighting panic, he knew he was in serious trouble, besides the flashes of lightning, it was pitch black out and who would see him? He was on his own for rescuing himself, but the likelihood of that dwindled fast as his muscles tired and he floated further and further away.

Another large tree branch slammed into his head from behind, bringing a flash of pain and stars across his eyes. Stunned, he could feel the attempt of darkness to sweep over him, but passing out now would most assuredly be a death sentence and he knew his only hope lay in grabbing hold of the wayward timber before he did just that and drowned. So, with one last ditch effort, he flung his uninjured arm up, using what was left of his strength to pull himself up as much as possible over the log. Clinging to the wood as though it was a life preserver, he tried to pull up his other arm as well, but it had gone cold , numb and unresponsive. Instead, his weary body began to succumb to the cold and the fatigue, unable to fight it any longer, his head fell against the rough surface of the branch as the river carried his unconscious body further and further downstream.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"Wakey, wakey, Sunshine." Dean heard a voice say to him just before a hand began to slap his face. He let out a groan and pulled his resisting eyelids open, attempting to focus his blurry vision on the shape in front of him. He made out a face, but who's it was was unclear until he shook his heavy head to clear the fuzzy cotton that felt stuffed into his skull.

"There you are, Dean. Open those eyes, we got a lot to discuss, you and I." Dean's vision sharpened and the two faces before him pulled into one recognizable form. Two blue eyes staring into his with a bright, white butterfly bandage sealing the cut on his nose Dean had given the man only hours ago with a television remote. Hatred burned in Dean's veins, he didn't even know the man's name, but he had tried to kill his little brother and if it hadn't been for Dean's incredible luck thanks to that rabbit's foot, he might have succeeded. But now he had to wonder if the damned thing had lingering effects as he found himself within the confines of a...Where was he? In an RV?

"You..." He muttered in contempt, seeing who it was then looking down at his bound hands and feet, tugging on the restraints, finding them impossibly tight. "Son of a bitch."

Dean shot a deadly look at his captor, who just smiled like he had won the grand prize at the carnival. The younger man didn't know the other hunter very well, but given the crazed look in his eyes, he knew the guy was a few bricks short of a load. "Not so lucky now, are you?"

"How the hell did you find me?" Dean demanded to know.

"God led me to you."

"God?" Dean tried to keep a straight face and failed.

"How else would you explain it? We just happen to pass by on our way through town and low and behold, who's car should I see parked at a Walgreen's just as we pass by? If that's not God leading us straight to you, then I don't know what else it could be. Maybe you should think about driving a car that's not so inconspicuous."

"I think you mean conspicuous." Dean's correction was rewarded with a sharp backhand to the face that left him seeing stars.

"You're a real smartass, aren't you."

"And you're an asshole, your point?"

The older man's face leaned in close enough for Dean to smell the stale coffee on his breath. "I'd watch it if I were you, kid. Sarcasm isn't going to get you anywhere with me. I don't appreciate your jokes."

"Well, that's just me-Jokey McJokerson. But, if you don't like it, you could always just let me go."

"Ha ha. Nice try." The man shook his finger in his face.

"You said 'we'...so where's that partner of yours?" Dean asked undeterred.

"Oh...He's out fetching your brother. We figured since there's only two motels in this town that he has to be near-by and this time you won't be able to interrupt what I need to do."

"Go to hell." Dean's blood ran ice cold

"I'm not too worried about that. Ya see, I've been saved. You could be too. All you need to do is let Jesus into your heart, repent your sins..."

"Okay...ya know. I'm gonna stop your Sunday School lecture right there. Don't you think it's a little hypocritical to go about telling people they need to repent, when you were two seconds away from blowing my brother's brains out earlier?"

The man just shook his head and laughed. "You don't get it, do you? That brother of yours is working on Hell's side. He's evil and God has directed me to remove him from the Earth- for the good of mankind. Why else would he have you land in my lap, not once, but twice? The first time you got away was a test for me...I see that now...to see if I would follow through. But this time around, I won't make the same mistakes. This time, I'll finish the job God had laid at my feet."

"You are one sick, crazy, twisted, delusional mother, aren't you?"

A hand reared up again, ready to strike and Dean braced himself for the blow he new was to come, but it was at that moment that the door opened and in stepped the man that he recognized as Crazy Dude's partner.

"Cready...what took you so long? You've been gone for almost two hours." Crazy dude asked. Seeing that that man was alone, a deep frown crept across his face. "Where's the boy?"

"Sorry, Kubrick...I went to both of the motels in town. First one was a bust, then I blew a tire out and had to stop and change it. I went to the other motel and I found their room, but the kid wasn't there. So I drove around trying to find him, but it's like he just up and vanished."

Kubrick turned to Dean, a fire erupting in his eyes. "You tipped him off somehow, didn't you?"

"How? I've kinda been tied up." Dean countered only to find the back of Kubrick's hand making sharp contact with his face once again.

"Where is he?" Kubrick's spittle landed on Dean's face as he shouted the question.

"I don't know and if I did I wouldn't tell you." Dean spat back.

"You lie." This time the slap turned into a close-fisted punch and Dean felt his jaw alight in flaming and throbbing pain. "Sooner or later you're going to tell me where he's hiding." Kubrick turned to his partner. "Cready...go outside to the storage compartment. I have a spare car battery out there that I think'll come in handy getting our friend here to talk."

_Dun Dun Dun!...TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry for taking so long to get this next part out. I have a ton of excuses, but mostly I ran into a bit of writer's block. There's probably a ton of errors in this as I don't have a beta, so if you notice something that needs attention, please let me know. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this next chapter and I appreciate any and all feedback. :D_

**_Part Two: Hell Says 'Hello'_**

A cold wetness lapped around Sam's head, almost in time to the throbbing pain that pulsed throughout his body. He remembered falling and being washed down the flooded waters, but how he ended up laying on his back, staring up at the dark, cloudy, but thankfully rainless sky was a mystery to him until he lifted his heavy head and saw what had halted his voyage on the _S.S. Treebranch._

A piled up mass of tangled, downed tree limbs, leaves and other sorts of debris had wedged themselves under a low-lying, stone footbridge. Unable to pass through, the blockage most assuredly had been the only thing that had saved him from downing. He had been lucky that the branch he had passed out on had been pushed close to the bank instead of to the center of the log jam where he most likely would have been crushed by more of the oncoming detritus.

Though he had been fortunate this time, he still had no clue how far downstream he had traveled or even if he was still in town, but from the looks of things, he was pretty far from where he initially fell as all he could see as he looked around were tall trees on either side of the creek's banks.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself before he made his move, certain that when he did, the pain would be intense.

And it was exquisite.

As soon as he opened his eyes again and attempted to roll over, his shoulder sent a blaze of agony screaming along his nerves. But desperate to get out of the water and onto dry land, Sam pushed through it, trying his best to ignore the involuntary tears streaming down his face and blurring his vision.

After the agonizing turn over, Sam made it to his knees and used his good hand to grab hold of a small sapling growing from the bank of the creek, pulling the rest of his body up and over the edge, he struggled against the added weight his soaked clothing added to him and once out of the water, he collapsed onto his stomach to the pebbly creek bank, fighting to catch his breath as it came in shuddering gasps, coughing up the cold water from his lungs.

He afforded himself a few moments to rest in that position and gather what little strength he had left. But he knew he couldn't stay there long. He was shivering already from the cold and Dean was still out there somewhere, possibly hurt and in danger. He had no choice but to move.

Pushing up with his good hand, he raised himself off the ground and to his feet, noting the loss of one of his shoes and shaking off the floaty-headed dizziness that crept into his brain. Opening the collar of his shirt, it was no surprise that his bullet wound was bleeding profusely once again and he didn't have to look at it closely to know that he had busted each stitch Dean had carefully sewn.

Thinking of Dean again, brought with it a new rush of adrenaline and he pushed aside the pain radiating from his shoulder and focused once again on getting out of there and finding his brother.

With his good hand, he reached into his back pocket for his phone and dug it out. As expected, water poured from the phone's casing, causing Sam to swear out loud. There'd be no calling for help now.

Looking around in the dim light, he tried his best to take in his surroundings and get a bearing on his position. Besides the bridge, the only sign of civilization was a narrow foot trail leading into a dark wooded forest on either side of the bridge.

With no moon out and too many clouds in the sky to judge which way was north, he was too turned around to choose which direction would be best, but either way he went he could only hope to find a road or something that might point back towards the town.

Choosing to go right simply because it didn't involve crossing the bridge and going anywhere near that creek again, he headed off onto the trail. The pitch-black night afforded him little light and he stumbled often over unseen roots and branches, stubbing the toes of his shoeless foot several times and making him wonder if Dean had been right: he was a walking, clumsy disaster. He'd be in town right now if hadn't of tripped in the first place and probably could have already caught up to Dean wherever he was.

Dean may have made it his mission in life to save Sam, heck he had even traded his soul for him, but Sam knew it was his turn to save Dean. Save him from whatever mess he was in right now, save him from hell...

Sam didn't even want his thoughts to go there, but it was funny how the more he tried to push that unwelcome thought from his mind the more he ended up thinking about it. He didn't want to think about the horrors that awaited his big brother nor about how futile Sam's search for a way out of the deal had been so far.

He wanted to dwell instead on going back to his nice, warm bed, snuggling up in the covers and sleeping for days.

But no...he was lost in some woods, freezing with a shoulder that hurt like a kick to the nuts and a brother out there that needed him. He had to keep going, had to keep moving, even when planting one foot in front of the other became a major chore, he couldn't stop.

So he walked on. Even as he put his body through constant exertion, his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably and there was little he could do to find any measure of warmth as chills rushed throughout him. A light rain began to drizzle on him not long after he started off, only adding to his misery.

He wasn't certain how far he had gone, his mind had turned off at some point and focused solely on planting one foot in front of the other, but it seemed as though the trees were beginning to thin out, the trail starting to widen and becoming freer of obstacles. This bolstered his hope that he would be coming to the end of the trail soon, hopefully near a road where he could hitch a ride back to town.

As he crested the top of a small hill, a wooden sign, canted slightly and nailed crookedly to a post greeted him.

_Welcome to Camp Tonawanda,_ it said.

He eyed it for a moment then kept moving further down the trail until he saw the first of several small cabins. All looked deserted, but that came as no real surprise to him. If this was some kind of summer camp, it would have been long over now that November was just around the corner.

Dripping wet and shivering, he had hopes that there might be someone around or a main cabin of some sort, hopefully one with a phone or at very least a map that could tell him how to get back. However, as he passed by the cabins, he noted their ramshackle appearance, some with doors hanging off the hinges and others with broken windows. It looked like this camp hadn't been in business for years and that had Sam's hope of finding a working telephone or people diminishing with each step.

At the far end of the cluster of cabins, he saw one that sported a faded red cross and was most likely a first aid cabin. At least, he thought there he might find some medical supplies to patch up his shoulder again so he could keep moving and find his way back to town.

Wearily, he made for it and climbed the steps up onto the porch before trying the door. It was locked, but thanks for years of wood rot and termites, it was easily opened with one kick and Sam was inside a moment later.

He had to let his eyes adjust to the darker interior before he could make out much of anything. When he could finally see enough to enter further, he found the cabin to be mostly empty of furniture save for an old, rusty spring bed with no mattress and empy beer and liquor bottles strewn about the dirty floor. At the far end of the cabin, a kitchenette-like area with peeling, stained white paint, a tarnished sink and broken cabinets was situated. Some of the doors to the cabinetry were missing while others had graffiti written over them with gaudy spray paint, giving the place the look and feel of a place even cockroaches would avoid.

Seeing the cabinets as a possible location for a medical kit, he walked over to them and began to rummage around. The drawers were mostly empty save for some rodent droppings, but in one upper cabinet he hit pay-dirt: a single, extra-large band-aid still in it's wrapper and half a roll of gauze. It wasn't much, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he was grateful for what he found.

Not wanting to waste any more time and anxious to get moving again, he quickly opened his shirt and dried off the now clotting wound with the gauze and slapped on the band-aid. It wasn't a great job and it was sure to not stop the bleeding completely, but it would suffice until he could get out of the woods and back to town.

Now that he was marginally patched up, he was ready to get moving again. The little camp was pretty much a bust, no people, no phones, no electricity and not even a map to point him in the right direction. But hopefully, just by being in the camp that meant there was a road nearby.

Stepping out of the cabin, he groaned seeing that the rain had picked up in earnest once again. What he didn't see was the large branch swinging towards his head nor the figure that had wielded it before the world spun into a bright-white whirl of pain followed by blissful darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"What are you going to do with this?" Cready asked as he walked back into the trailer with the spare car battery.

Kubrick took the battery from him and set it on the table next to the tied up younger man. "I'm going to get him to talk, that's what, Cready." Kubrick reached into a cabinet up above and pulled out a set of jumper cables, wasting little time in hooking them to the battery.

"So torture, huh?" Dean asked. "How very Christian of you." He pointed out Kubrick's hypocracy dryly.

Dean eyed the battery, trying his best to mask his anxiety with sarcasm as he wasn't a big fan of electricity, especially after his run-in with the rawhead a couple of years earlier that had left him with a damaged heart. But he wasn't about to let this ass-head know that.

"You just tell me where that brother of yours is hiding out and I won't have to touch you."

"Kiss my ass." Dean would have given him the finger as well if he hands had been free, but he figured that he got his point across well enough.

"Have it your way." Kubrick grabbed Dean's shirt collar and pulled, popping the buttons of his shirt and exposing his bare chest. He then grabbed a full glass of water and tossed the liquid onto him, soaking his skin. Dean had been forced to watch enough science documentaries by Sam to know that the water would increase the conductivity of his skin or in other words, make it hurt a helluva lot more. He watched as the older hunter picked up the red black cables touching the clamps of both ends together, creating a spark in front of Dean's face.

Maintaining a stony, defiant silence, Dean looked Kubrick right in the eye, as if daring him to go through with it just to prove that he'd never give in to his intimidation.

"Last chance, kid. You going to tell me where Sam is?"

"Gee, let me think about it." Dean looked over at Cready who shifted uneasily under his glare, not meeting his eyes. "_Nein_." He added with a grin and a German accent.

"_Nein_?" Kubrick asked.

"Yeah, it means 'no' numb-nuts, so just get on with it already." He demanded sourly. After all, it would be good practice for the tortures that no doubt awaited him in Hell, he thought to himself grimly. Funny how it was that he wasn't really all that afraid of going downstairs. Sure, it was going to be well...Hell. But when he thought of the alternative... when he thought about going through life with Sam dead and left alone in the world, it was well worth his soul.

"Fine." Kubrick declared, taking the red cable and squeezing the alligator clip open. He took a pinch of Dean's skin just above his right pectoral muscle and placed the open clamp against it so that the serrated edges would dig deeply and painfully into his flesh then let go.

Dean couldn't help the wince of pain once the clip was clamped onto his skin, but he would give his captors little more. Kubrick picked up the black cable and gave a feral grin, taking his sweet time bringing the metal clip towards Dean's chest.

"Whoa, Kubrick." Cready tried to stop him, his face a torn mixture between uncertainty and abhorrence . "You aren't really gonna shock him are you?'

"How else do you suggest we get him to talk? It won't kill him, Cready."

"Yeah, maybe it won't, but..."

"Cready-" Kubrick put down the cable and walked over to his partner, resting a hand on his shoulder and looking him deep in his eyes. "We're doing this because God wills it. You don't want to go against God, now do you?"

Cready chanced a look over at Dean then sighed and lowered his eyes in obedience like a kicked puppy. He could clearly see that Cready was uneasy with all of this, he was a man that was used to tracking down monsters and killing ghosts, but torturing fellow hunters was a whole new ballgame. The only problem was he didn't have the balls to step up and go against his partner.

"Don't worry, Cready. I'll handle all of this." Kubrick slapped Cready on the shoulder encouragingly and moved back over to the car battery, picking up the black cable once again. "Now, where were we?" He asked Dean.

"Let's see..." Dean started with a sneer. "You were about to make a huge mistake."

"The only mistake being made is yours by not telling us where Sam is."

"I told you already, I don't know where he is, but seeing as how you're never gonna believe me, why don't we just skip to the part where you torture me and I tell you nothing, 'kay?"

Kubrick didn't waste any more time with talking but instead just pushed the negatively charged clip into Dean's wet chest.

The effect was immediate. Every nerve in his body came alight with fire. His muscles tensed and corded into tight balls, his teeth clenched together and he was powerless to stop the deep-throated grunt that resonated throughout the interior of the trailer. The smell of burning flesh wafted, but Dean barely noticed it beyond the pain that blinded him to all else. Just as his vision started to blacken around the edges and he was certain his head would explode, Kubrick released the cable and he slumped down in exhaustion, his head too heavy to lift, muscles still twitching from the electrical current.

"You feel like talking yet?" Kubrick asked.

Dean panted, forcing his head up to look the older man in the eye. "Fuck...You..."

Kubrick's face etched itself into a warped vision of anger and irritation. The black cable still in his hand shook as he grasped it tighter then drove it home once again in Dean's flesh.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: So sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter written. Real life has been crazy and I'm easily distract- ooooh is that something shiny? Anyhoo, Let me know what you think of this. Good or bad, I appreciate all feedback. :D_

**Part 3: The Scars I Have Ignored**

Dean's jaw clenched and muscles contracted involuntarily. He would have let out a scream if he could have opened his mouth, but instead, an unnerving rumble issued from his throat as the electricity flowed through him. Tears leaked on their own accord from his tightly clenched eyes while the cords of his neck stood out like over- tightened guitar strings.

All of this lasted no more than a second or two, but it was almost as though Cready could feel the pain that this young man was going through. His stomach turned and revolted at the sight and just when he thought he might lose his dinner, Kubrick removed the clip from Dean's chest.

The poor kid slumped in his seat and Cready let go of the breath he realized then that he had been holding. Dear God, this job was becoming so much more than he had bargained for.

Sure, at first he was all for taking out Sam Winchester. Kubrick had explained how Gordon Walker had informed him that Sam was some sort of hell spawn and his brother was one mean son of a bitch. Cready knew Gordon's reputation well and the man had never been known to lie, even if he was extreme in his methods. So he had no reason to doubt his word. However, the reality of it all, had been a little more different than he expected.

Sam certainly didn't seem or act like your typical monster. For one thing, Cready hadn't been prepared for how young the kid was. His own son wasn't too much younger than this kid and when they found him knocked out cold in that motel room and tied him up, he couldn't help but make the comparisons. And for another thing, the boy never really fought back, but tried to reason with them rationally, without the usual taunts he had come to expect from evil creatures.

Dean also wasn't what he was expecting. He was cocky for sure, but it was plain to see that he would do just about anything, even endure torture to keep his little brother from harm. If Sam really was as horrible a creature as Kubrick thought he was, then why would Dean be so protective?

It all didn't add up.

Cready was never known for being a deep thinker. His father had gotten him into this business just as his father before him had and he had never questioned the lengths they needed to go in order to rid the world of evil. But was this too far? His father had always said, "We protect those that can't protect themselves."

Even now, many years after his death, his words still echoed in his ears and that voice was growing.

_Protect those that can't protect themselves..._

Kubrick picked up the clamps again and jabbed Dean once again in the chest. Cready didn't think he could take another moment of the kid's agonizing grunts and moans. He had to get out.

Bolting for the door, he panted as soon as he was out, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes he had stashed in his jacket pocket. Despite the rain, he managed to light his cigarette and pull in a puff before the door banged opened and Kubrick filled the threshold.

"Cready! What are doing?"

"I don't know, Kubrick...I just need a few minutes, okay?" Kubrick stared at him hard, giving him a disapproving scowl when he lifted the cigarette back up to his mouth.

"Those things are gonna kill you, ya know?"

"That and a bunch of other things."

"Don't take too long, okay? I'm gonna need you when I'm done with the kid. And while you're out there, get the shovels out of the back of the trailer and put 'em in your truck." Kubrick ordered.

Cready stopped cold, the color draining from his face. "Whoa...Shovels? You're not thinking of killing Dean, are you?"

"What choice do we have? He isn't talking no matter what I do and we can't let him go, he'll just kill us before we can get to his brother- You want that? Besides, for all we know this demonic power his brother has might be genetic and his soul might be just as tainted as his. If you ask me, God would be pleased with our work."

His father's voice rattled around his head once again.

_Protect those that can't protect themselves..._

Everyone has a tipping point- that moment in their life when they step apart from themselves and see things clearly and know precisely what they need to do. At that moment, Cready found his.

Kubrick was insane and he had to be stopped.

"Fine." Cready agreed, his mind coming up with a plan. "Just let me finish out here and I'll be back in a minute."

Kubrick nodded and disappeared back into the RV.

As soon as he was out of sight, Cready threw his cigarette to the ground and hurried to his Bronco, opening up the tailgate. He reached in and pulled out the case he had stowed back there and unlocked it, pushing aside wooden stakes, bottles of holy water and various knives until he found what he needed.

Feeling the solid weight of his father's .45 in his hand, he headed back to the trailer.

Inside the RV, Dean found that his body was no longer under the control of his brain. Every nerve in his body sent signals to his muscles to go haywire. He twitched uncontrollably, every ripple of movement causing screaming pain to course through him.

He tried to lift his head when he noticed that Kubrick had finally stopped his fun with electricity experiment, but only managed to open his eyes to slits and could do no more than stare at his lap, watching with disassociated fascination as blood dripped from his nose in large plops onto his jeans.

Only partially aware of events transpiring around him, he heard a door open and close, then raised voices and a scuffle, but beyond that, nothing else registered. He was too tired to care anymore. He just wanted to sleep, to be swallowed up in blackness and make the pain go away.

The unmistakeable sounds of a fist connecting with flesh stirred him from the brink of unconsciousness. Confused, he made another effort to lift his head and succeeded in bringing it up far enough to catch some of the action occurring around him.

Cready stood over Kubrick who lay on the floor out cold. He took a moment to wipe his brow before stowing the gun in his hand into the back of his waistband then pulling out a couple pairs of handcuffs. Rolling Kubrick onto his side, he pulled the unconscious man's hands behind his back and clasped the cuffs tight around his wrists before doing the same to his ankles.

Cready then turned to face Dean and their eyes locked. The older man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open with a loud snap as he advanced on him. Tired, beaten and in pain, Dean knew he couldn't fight back and he let his head drop. All he could do now was wait for death and hope that it would be quick.

When the inevitable slash across his throat didn't come and instead he felt the ropes binding him come loose, he blearily opened his eyes again. He felt arms hauling him to his feet, but he couldn't get his muscles under control enough to put any weight on them.

The man beside him grunted in effort. "C'mon, kid. Help me out here."

Still confused but aware enough to figure out he was being rescued, Dean fought for his feet and legs to cooperate. Each step was a struggle as a stinging pins and needles effect plagued him, but he kept going until they were out of the RV and into the rain.

Half walking and half being carried, Dean's vision swam until they came to a stop. A door opened and he allowed him self to be manhandled into the passenger seat of a truck.

Vaguely, he was aware of the door shutting again and hitting him in the shoulder and then the sounds of an engine revving. Anything after that was taken over by blissful darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

A groan sounded, echoing in his ringing ears. He never realized that it was his own until he tried to open his eyes and was met with a blinding stab of pain that struck him from ear to ear.

Nausea assaulted him as he rolled over onto his side, forgetting momentarily how much it would hurt to put any pressure on his injured shoulder. Forcing himself up with his good hand, he swayed precariously, fighting the bile rising up in his gut and panting heavily. Mouth watering uncontrollably, his battle with his stomach was lost and he heaved.

"Uggggg...kid. Here's a bucket." Sam found a bucket being shoved into his hands by a man he could barely see in the dim light. All confusion aside, he took the bucket without question and lost his stomach contents into it.

When he was finished, the the man who had given him the pail took it away and left the room without a word, leaving Sam reeling in questions, the utmost of which were, where was? And who was this guy?

Those questions would have to wait until the man returned. In the mean time, he took stock of his situation, sizing up his physical condition first. His body ached all over, his head and shoulder especially. Though his vision had stabilized enough to where the room no longer spun, he had a lingering queasiness from his bout of sickness that left him drained and if he had to fight this guy, he'd be in big trouble. Then again, the man had plenty of opportunity to kill Sam while he was out but hadn't done so and had even given him a bucket to puke in; hardly the actions of a crazy psycho killer. But, that also begged the question as to why he had knocked him out in the first place.

Seeing as how he was in no shape to take on any physical exertion beyond sitting up, he decided to learn as much about his predicament by taking in his surroundings. It was dark, save for a single kerosene lamp burning on top of a small chest of drawers next to him, but he could see that this wasn't like the other cabins he had seen in the camp. It was neat and tidy, without any of the debris and graffiti that littered the others.

He was sitting on a small, narrow cot which appeared to be the only place to sleep in the sparsely decorated room. The only other pieces of furniture he saw was a little plastic table and chair set that could have also served as patio furniture.

At the far end of the room, Sam could hear a fire crackling away in an old, wood burning furnace, but it was still felt cold in the room to him. His clothes remained wet from his adventure down the river and he shivered uncontrollably, drawing his arms into his stomach to conserve heat.

"Got a blanket for you. Best that you use it before you freeze to death." Sam looked up to see the man walking back into the room, holding out a thin, folded blanket to him. As he came into the light, he was able to get a better view of the guy's appearance. Thin, scruffy and bearded, the man reminded Sam a of a pale version Bobby, but without the hardness that he had honed from years of hunting.

Sam hesitated as the blanket was offered, unsure if he could trust the man.

"Go on...take it. It won't bite." Keeping a wary eye on the man, Sam reluctantly took it and wrapped it around it his shoulders. It began to warm him a little, but it stank like ripe body odor and he was certain it had been quite sometime since it had seen the inside of a washing machine. But he wasn't going to shrug it off now that his shivering was calming down.

"You took quite a hit there, kid... how you feeling?"

Sam ignored the question, ready to have some of his own answered. "Who are you? Why did you hit me then bring me here? Where..."

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. One question at a time, okay? My name's Tom, what's your's?"

Sam eyed him uncertainly, hesitant to answer, but didn't get the feeling that he was in any danger with this man.

"Sam" He replied curtly.

"Well, Sam, you're in my cabin and I own this camp. I'm sorry for the accommodations, I know it ain't much, but seeing as how I don't have a phone or a car, I had to bring you here. And you don't have to be afraid of me, I wasn't the one that hit you."

"If you didn't hit me, then who did?"

Tom rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "Well...it's sorta hard to explain, but that was Brad..."

"Brad?"

"Like I said...it's hard to explain, but don't worry, I got rid of him at least for a while and as long as we're in here, we're safe."

"Why did he attack me?"

"Let's just say that he's kinda the angry sort. He doesn't like me very much and doesn't like me living out here."

Sam furrowed his brow. Damn, his head hurt and he couldn't concentrate. The questions just kept piling up about this guy, but that was the least of his worries. He still had to find Dean-he had to get out of there.

He started to make his way to his feet, wavering unsteadily.

"Hey now, kid...take it easy and sit back down. You were out like a light for close to an hour."

"You don't understand" Sam protested. "I have to get back to town..." despite the pain in his head and throughout his body, Sam had only one thing in mind: finding Dean. Heading for the door, he stopped and turned to Tom, suddenly remembering that he had no idea how to get there. "uh...you think you could point me in the right direction?...I got a little lost."

"You can't be seriously thinking about going back out there at this time of night. It's pouring rain, the trails will be washed out and for God's sake, you have no coat, you're missing a shoe and you look like you've been run through a meat grinder. You need to stay put. It's not safe out there in the woods, especially at night."

"Look, thanks for your concern, but I'll be okay. It's really very important that I get back to town...my brother...I'm looking for him..." Sam had to bring a hand to his head, hoping it it might stop some of the dizziness that threatened to send him sprawling to the floor. Unfortunately, it wasn't helping, but he refused to allow it to stop him. Once the black spots clouding his sight faded, he looked back to Tom with pleading eyes. "Please..."

The older man sighed in resignation, apparently coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't be able to stop Sam from leaving even if he tried tying him to the bed. "Fine. There's a trail just behind this cabin that heads out to the main road."

Sam nodded his thanks and shrugged off the blanket, handing it back to Tom.

Just as Sam reached for the door knob Tom called out to him. "Watch out for Brad...he might still be out there. I know he doesn't have a beef with you, but that won't necessarily mean that he won't try any more of his shenanigans. Just be careful will ya, Sam?"

"I will...thanks." Sam opened the door and stepped over the threshold, his head still hurting too much and his attention so focused on getting back to town, that he never noticed the thin line of salt that lay across the opening.

Stepping out into the rain, Sam walked to the back of the cabin and found the trail Tom had mentioned. Getting to Dean was his only thought and that bolstered him to put aside the aches and pains and ignore the squishy mud that seeped into his sock on the foot with the missing shoe. Fortunately, the rain was lightening up to just a light sprinkle and even though it was still cold, he was feeling a charge of adrenaline that fueled a fire within him.

Charging up a small hill, Sam suddenly felt a chilly wind pick up and the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. Goosebumps broke out and a sensation he knew only too well crept over him: he was not alone and he was being watched.

He stopped and scanned the surrounding woods. It was too dark to make much of anything out, but he realized at that moment just how naked he felt without a weapon on him. He turned to look back on the trail and again saw nothing. Thinking for a moment that his imagination might be playing tricks on him, he chalked up his heightened anxiety to Tom's worry about this 'Brad' guy. He didn't have time for this kind of crap, he had to keep moving if he was to get out of the woods and to the main road.

Turning back around to restart his journey, he gasped in surprise to find a boy, not more than a teenager blocking his path.

"Shit!" He uttered, startled.

The boy just looked at him intensely, malice filling his eyes. Sam knew immediately that this was no ordinary kid; he was no longer human. From the pale skin to the cold air surrounding him, Sam knew from years of experience that this was a ghost and an angry one at that.

"You're friends with Tom." The boy spoke menacingly, his lip curling in hate.

"No, I hardly know him." Sam replied quickly.

"I saw you with him. At first I thought you were him, that's why I hit you and I actually felt sorry for you. But then you stayed in his cabin for a long time, long enough for him to turn you against me."

"No..I swear."

"Did he tell you I was bad, that I was evil?" The boy's voice grew in intensity. "That I need to be destroyed? He's the one that needs to be destroyed! He's the bad man!"

Unarmed and defenseless, Sam had no way to stop the boy from raising a hand and easily flinging him into the air. He landed hard on the cold, muddy ground, jarring every bone in his body and sending his pain receptors into a frenzy. In an instant, the ghost was on him again, freezing, dead fingers wrapping around his throat and squeezing with inhuman strength.

"The friend of my enemy is my enemy." The boy whispered coldly.

Sam fought for breath, his fingers desperately wrapping around the ghost's, trying to pry them from his windpipe, but it was of no use; he was too strong. Choking and gurgling, Sam's vision began to blacken and mentally he said his good-byes to Dean and begged forgiveness for his failures, for not being a better brother and hunter and for not being able to come to his aid when he needed him.

Out of the corner of his dimming eyesight, Sam caught a flash of movement and a swinging of metal then suddenly the pressure on his throat was gone. He gasped in the damp night air, savoring it's sweetness for a moment as he breathed. When he had sufficiently regained his composure, he focused on his savior.

Tom stood over him, offering a hand up. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go out alone. I told you Brad was the angry sort."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Sorry again for the long time it has taken for me to update this. I finally think that after some brain-blockage and a chronic case of laziness that I've got the plot of this figured out completely. It's turning out far different that what I had originally planned, but there will still be plenty of Sam and Dean whumpage ahead. Cheers! :D**_

**Part Four: Come Back To Me**

It was the absence of movement that ended his blissful, painless and ultimately way too short sleep. A sharp stop and the kill of the engine pulled at his consciousness and drove reality back home again into his brain, bringing with it the harsh realization that his body was one large bag of beaten and abused flesh.

He pulled weary eyes open, biting back the moan that desperately wanted to escape from his lips just as he heard a heavy car door open with a metallic squeak and slam shut. Through fuzzy eyesight, he could just make out a figure crossing around the front end of the vehicle he was in and hurry over to the door he was leaning against.

Confusion took hold, but only for a split second before fuzzy memories came running back to him, reminding him of the fun Kubrick had with his battery and his unlikely savior hauling his ass out of there. Forcing aching and shaky muscles to move, he fought to sit up straight, pushing the dizziness and pain aside in order to avoid falling out when the door opened next to him.

Wordlessly, a hand snaked under his armpits and began pulling him from the truck. He tried to help with the maneuver, to get his body to cooperate and he was pleased to find that he was moderately successful in the attempt, discovering that his legs would hold him, even if they did feel like they were made of wet noodles. However, he didn't begrudge the help Cready was offering him and let himself be half-carried out.

It took his cotton-filled mind a moment to understand where he was being taken until he saw her and he cracked a weak grin. Realizing that Cready was helping him to his car, he suddenly felt a little stronger in the legs and was mostly walking unassisted.

They stopped by the driver's door and Dean took that moment to let her take his weight and leaned up against it.

"Sorry, but this is about the best I can do." He fished into his pockets and handed off the keys back to him. "And I'm sorry for what Kubrick did to you...I swear I didn't know he was gonna take things so far."

Dean snorted despite the pain it caused his head. "But you knew he wanted to kill Sam- you didn't seem to have a problem with that." The guy may have redeemed himself a little for helping out of a bad situation, but that little tid-bit of info left a bitter taste in his mouth that he wouldn't soon forget.

"Look...I know." Cready replied. "But, I'm a hunter and I had good information on your brother and was acting on it- I hunt monsters and I thought he was one, but now I'm not so sure."

"So you let me go...but now what? You gonna go after Sam now?"

Cready looked him dead-on in the eyes. "No...honestly...I still don't know what to believe, I used to trust Kubrick, but now I know that he's crazy. So, whether Sam has some demonic power or not, I haven't seen any proof with my own eyes yet and until I do...I'll be giving you boys a very, very wide berth."

Even though he wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders yet, Dean could plainly see that Cready was being truthful. He gave the older man a minute nod in thanks then turned to his car door and opened it, sliding into the seat with a little grunt when the movement jarred his sore body.

"If I were you, I'd hurry up and find that brother of yours and get out of Dodge before Kubrick makes his way out of those handcuffs ." the older man offered in advice.

Without another word, Cready turned around and walked back over to his truck without looking back. Once he was in his truck and pulling out of the parking lot, Dean pulled the door shut and immediately looked about for his phone. It didn't seem like Kubrick and Cready had taken it since they most likely would have used it to lure Sam in and since it wasn't in his pocket, he could only pray that it was still in the car somewhere. He bent over, groaning and swearing at the pain while he reached down beneath his seat and pushed aside a couple of empty soda bottles and fast-food bags in his search, making a mental note to clean the car out once they had New York state far away in the rear-view mirror.

Finally his hand found a smooth plastic case that he could recognize just from it's touch. He would have given a little whoop of triumph for his discovery right then, but upon sitting up, he had to close his eyes in order to keep himself from passing out thanks to the sudden change in position.

After the dizzy feeling passed enough for him to focus on using the phone, he wasted little time in flipping the thing open, taking little notice of the tremors that wracked his hand.

He had four missed calls and voicemails, all of them from Sam. He just prayed that one of them was his pain in the ass brother telling him where to find him. All of the messages where pretty much the same: Sam asking where he was and if he was okay.

"Dammit, Sam." He muttered, his head deciding then to send a sharp spike across his temples. He rubbed his forehead then scrolled down to Sam's number and pressing the connect button. He listened to it ring and ring until he got Sam's voice telling him to leave a message. He waited for the beep then spoke into the phone.

"Wherever you are, Sam...I'm okay. Just call me back and I'll come get you."

Dean leaned back in the seat and rested his head back in frustration and worry that Sam hadn't picked up and rubbed his aching head. As much as his body was telling him that he needed to rest and recover from his ordeal, he couldn't allow that. He had to find Sam first.

His first stop would have to be back at the motel, where he last saw his brother, hoping that might give him some clue as to where he went. Brushing aside his headache and jamming the key into the ignition, he revved up the car and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal and a cloud of smoke rising from the spinning tires.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"So, you still want to head out in the woods alone now?" Tom asked, resting the iron pipe in his hands that he had just used to vaporize Brad. Sam was still trying to catch his breath from the near-choking the angry spirit had inflicted on him and rubbed his sore, bruised throat.

"What the hell?" Sam squawked, his voice raspy as he tried to stand. Tom offered a hand and he took it, allowing the older man to help him up. "You could have warned me about Brad..."

"I did...Told you he was dangerous."

"You could have mentioned that he was a ghost." Sam exclaimed in exasperation.

"What? Like you would have believed me?" Tom asked in disbelief. "If I had, you would have thought I was some old nut-job

"I would have believed you."

"Really?"

"Really...trust me on this one." Sam tried to convince him.

Tom studied Sam for a moment intensely as though searching for the truth in his face. "You really would have, wouldn't you?"

"Yes. Like I just said."

"Okay then..." Tom nodded in approval. "I guess we should head back to my cabin then."

"No...I still got to get back to town."

"Even after all of that, you still want to hang out in these woods when Brad could come back at anytime?"

"Yeah...just lend me that pipe of yours and I'll be okay."

"It's a bad idea, Sam. I had hoped Brad would leave you alone when I let you go the first time, but if I hadn't come to find you and give you this old coat of mine, then you'd be toast." Tom lifted up an old and battered jacket, handing it off to Sam, who took it gratefully as he shivered. " I saved your ass twice already tonight and I'm not in much of a mood to do it again. Look, we go back and wait until morning. Brad doesn't come around in the daylight and we'll be safer then."

"I'm sorry. I can't. I gotta find my brother. I know what I'm doing and I can handle Brad." Sam stripped off his flannel shirt still wet from his ordeal in the water down to his undershirt, wincing when the movement pulled at his injured shoulder. Then he put on the coat, immensely relieved to find it warm and not at all as stinky as it looked.

"How could you possibly know how to deal with something like Brad?" Tom asked. "I've been haunted by him for years and I've picked up a few tricks, but he still scares the shit out of me. I know how to keep him at bay, but you have no idea what you are messing with."

"Let's just say that I had a lot of experience with these sort of things."

"How so?" Tom asked skeptically.

"Me and my brother..." Sam started, deciding it was best to just let Tom in on everything he and Dean did for a living since Tom was already perfectly aquainted with ghosts. "We're what you might call 'hunters'. We find ghosts and such then get rid of them when we can." Sam told him frankly then added when Tom eyed him warily, "Look, I understand it sounds crazy, but I know iron and salt repels ghosts. I also know how to get rid of Brad for you once and for all...but I need to find Dean first."

Tom appeared a little stunned at Sam confession, but recovered quickly, looking hopeful as he peered into Sam's sincere face. "You know how to get make Brad go away forever? How?"

"We need to find his remains...then we have to salt his body and burn it."

Tom looked horrified. "God...you've done that?"

"When we need to..." Sam replied. "Look...these spirits...they're not at rest when they start to act like Brad. They're angry because they're trapped and can't move on. We help them by cutting the ties that bind them to this world."

Thoughtfully, Tom eyed Sam. "If what you say is actually true and I help you find your brother, will you help me with Brad?"

"Yeah, sure. But we find Dean first and you have to tell me everything you know about Brad and why he's targeting you."

"Okay then." Tom nodded, his face grim. "It's a deal"

Tom started off down the forest path with Sam following him at his side. As they walked Tom started to talk.

"I suppose if you need to know everything about Brad then I should start at the beginning. It was about fifteen years ago when my wife and I sold practically everything we had and cleaned out our life savings to buy this camp. My wife loved the outdoors and children, but we were never able to have any of our own, so we decided to run a place where kids could get out of the city and explore nature. The first year was wonderful. We had kids from churches, youth groups, boy scouts, girls scouts, you name it. It was all going so well until we hosted a group of at-risk teens from Hell's kitchen...Brad was one of those kids.

One night...I was patrolling the grounds and doing some general maintenance when I heard something. I went to investigated and found Brad behind a cabin smoking what looked like and smelled like a joint. I confronted him and demanded that he put it out and I told him I was going to have to turn him in. He got angry then saying that he would go back to Juvie for this and he wasn't about to let me do that. Next thing I know, he's throwing punches and I'm just trying to defend myself. I wrestled him to the ground, but almost as soon as I did that, he started to wheeze..."

Tom's voice choked up as he recalled more. "I didn't know he had asthma...I didn't know he couldn't breathe...I thought he was faking at first, but when he stopped struggling and went still, I panicked. I left him and ran to get help, but by the time I got back with his group leader and the camp nurse, he had already stopped breathing...He died...and it was my fault. I lost everything after that. My wife left me...my business was ruined because nobody wanted to stay in a camp where a kid died and I didn't have the money to go anywhere else. So here I stayed."

"Why didn't you sell the camp then?" Sam asked

"Because...this is what I spent my life working for...This is my home." Tom came back with conviction in his voice. "At first, I thought that maybe after a while I could get it going again, that people would forget what happened here over time, but then Brad came back. It started out with just a few flickering lights and cold spots, then things started to escalate. Books would fly off the shelves, pots were thrown at me and then one day I saw him standing outside my door, looking at me with hate in his eyes...I knew then that this was my punishment for his death. During the day when Brad wasn't around I would walk into town and research what I could from the library about ghosts and I learned that could be kept at bay with salt and iron, but I never did find anyway to get rid of him completely. So I figured that this was what I deserved for causing Brad's death. It's my penance if you will"

"It was an accident, Tom." Sam sympathized with him. "And you shouldn't have to live like this."

"Maybe...but that doesn't change the fact that the boy is dead." Tom replied forlornly.

No sooner had Tom said that when something rammed Tom in the back and sent him sprawling forward into a tree, knocking him senseless and shooting the iron pipe out of his hand. Sam tried to dodge the next attack, but was soon flying through the air himself and landing hard on the ground, sending shooting pain across his body. Slowed by the fall, he made a break for the pipe, but was stopped by a ghostly foot, stomping on his hand.

Sam yelped out, his fingers pinned to the ground by the unnatural force. He looked up and saw Brad's pale face bearing down on him. "Don't believe him." Brad's voice dripped with rage. "He's a liar."

"Brad...it was an accident...it's not his fault." Sam ground out against the pain.

"No!...He killed me...he left me there to die." Distracted by his anger, Brad didn't notice that Sam had been trying to reach over to the fallen pipe, his fingers just barely able to grasp it, but when he finally did, he swung it mightily, striking the spirit directly through the midsection until he disappeared.

Sam panted then went directly over to Tom, who was just starting to make some movement.

"Tom? You okay?"

"Yeah..." He groan sitting up "I'll live."

"Let's get out here." Sam suggested.

"Couldn't agree with you more."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean swore as soon as he opened the motel room door. His and Sam's things were scattered about, but there was no sign of his brother and no note telling him where he had gone. Besides Sam, the only things missing were his shoes, phone and wallet, so Dean could only figure that he must have left somewhere on foot.

Seeing as how the room gave no clues to Sam's whereabouts, Dean quickly gathered all of their belongings, shoving them into their bags and taking them outside to the car, tossing them haphazardly into the back seat. There wouldn't be any coming back to this motel, not with the possibility of Kubrick getting out of his bindings and coming after them again.

Heading straight for the motel's office, Dean set the room key on the counter and waited impatiently for the manager to come to the front. "Hey...anybody in there?" He called out when he felt he had been waiting too long. In reality it had only been about 30 seconds, but that was time he should be spending looking for Sam that he didn't want to waste checking out. Also he needed to see if the attendant had seen Sam or could possibly give him any idea which direction he may have headed.

"Yeah, yeah." The rotund, middle aged manager grumbled as he walked up to the desk as if it was everyday a beat-up man walked in to the office. But then again, considering the clientle of this particular motel, it probably wasn't all that strange to see guys that looked like they'd been in a bar-room brawl.

"Checking out?" He asked.

"Yeah...but, I need to know if you've seen the tall guy that was with me when we checked in. See, he's my brother and he sometimes goes for these walks and gets lost. He's a little scatterbrained like that."

"Him?" The man srcatched his head. "Nope...can't say that I have, but you might ask Charlie, she's the maid and might have seen him earlier, but you better hurry, her shift is almost over and she's most likely getting ready to go home."

"'kay...thanks." Dean slapped the counter and tried not to let his irritation show as he stepped out. Across the parking lot, he spied a rather large, 50ish year old woman in a maid's uniform opening a car door. He rushed over to her before she get in.

She startled as he approached as though suddenly being attacked and was surprisingly quick to whip out a small can of pepper spray, aiming it directly at Dean's face.

"Stay back!" She warned. "I don't have any money." Obviously she had had her share of scary encounters working late at the sleazy motel and wasn't going to take any shit from anybody.

"Whoa!" Dean stopped short and held up his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you...I just need to ask you a question...please."

She looked skeptically at him, but lowered the spray. "Fine. Just don't try anything funny or you'll get a faceful."

"I won't, I swear...I just need to know if you saw the guy in room 201 leave tonight. He's pretty tall with kinda longish hair..."

"The young, good looking guy?" She asked with a little twinkle in her eye.

"Yeah...I guess." Dean shrugged wondering once again how Sam seemed to be a magnet to all the cougars out there.

"You know, I did see him tonight leave the room and head towards downtown. I thought it was kinda weird since it was raining pretty hard, he didn't even have a coat on and he seemed like he was in a big hurry."

"You're sure he was heading that way?"

"Yeah...sorta hard to forget a cute face like that."

Dean might have rolled his eyes if he wasn't too preoccupied with chasing down his lost brother. "Thanks." He said quickly then took off for the car.

Jumping into his seat, he turned the ignition, bringing the engine roaring to life before peeling out of the parking lot and onto the main road that led into town.

Dean had just come from this direction and had seen no sign of Sam then, but maybe he had missed him before. Sam must have come for him at the drug store when he didn't come back...but the most worrying thing to Dean was he still wasn't answering his phone when he tried to call yet again.

"C'mon, Sammy..." He grumbled to himself as shut closed his phone and drove into the downtown area, hoping he might catch sight of him while he drove around. However, after an hour of searching and seeing practically no one out on the streets while it continued to rain, Dean was at a loss for where to look next.

Gripping the steering wheel tight, he couldn't help but think about how it seemed like he was always trying to find Sam. First there was the time he ran away when he was seven. Dean was lucky that time in that he found his little brother at a near-by playground only a half mile away before their Dad returned. Then there was the time he was sixteen and had a fight with their father, taking off in the dead of night without so much as a 'see ya later' to Dean. He had no clue where he had gone that time and Sam had learned how to cover his tracks better by then, but even so, Dean had found him two weeks later in Flagstaff and dragged him back kicking and screaming.

Since then, Sam had escaped to college for four years, been kidnapped by cannibal hillbillies and disappeared for a week when he was possessed by Meg, but each time Dean had been able to find him, he reminded himself. He'd get him back again this time, he concluded even as his foot pressed a little harder on the accelerator.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Thankfully for Sam and Tom, Brad did not make another appearance as they made their way to the road that would lead them back into town.

"We should be safe now that we're out of the woods." Tom explained. "I've never seen him this far out before."

"His spirit is mostly likely trapped in the forest where he died." Sam added, hoping he was right.

Tom nodded then pointed up the road. "There's a gas station about a mile ahead that has a phone. Maybe you can try calling that brother of yours again or we can call a cab to get us into town."

Sam figured it was the best plan they had so far and trudged on. He wasn't about to let on however, that he really wasn't feeling well since Brad's last attack. His head ached and the wound in his shoulder felt like it was on fire, making every step that much more of a challenge. He shivered and clenched his teeth in order to keep them from chattering, but it did little to hide the fact that he was losing steam fast.

But it seemed that Tom had been keeping a keen eye on him and asked him pointedly. "You okay, kid? You're looking kinda pale and I couldn't help but notice the bandage on your shoulder earlier..."

"I'm fine." He lied quickly, determined to keep moving. "Just cold."

"Why don't you let me take a look at it? I used to bandage up kids at our camp all of the time."

"Nah...it's okay...just sore."

Tom stopped and pulled on Sam's sleeve. "Now look here, Sam...You can't find your brother and help me take care of Brad when you look like you're gonna fall on your face. So, let me at least see what I can do for you."

Sam sighed then nodded in reluctant obeisance and let Tom open the coat and pull up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Sam hissed when his fingers made contact with the bandage and he pulled it down.

"Damn, kid...is that what I think it is?" Tom asked, appraising the bullet hole in his flesh. "How the hell did you get this?"

"Long story...let's just say I've had a run of bad luck the last couple of days."

"No shit." Tom agreed, but didn't press the question any further while checking over his shoulder. Sam could see from his vantage point that the wound had grown a bright red and whenever Tom touched it, lancing pain shot down his arm and across his chest. "It feels really hot to the touch and looks pretty damn infected to me. I don't think there's much can do for that, so maybe we should get you to a doctor."

Sam shook his head then. "No...there's no time for that. I'll be okay. Trust me...I've had worse and I'll live."

"Well aren't you just stubborn as a mule." Tom grumbled, but let Sam pull down his shirt sleeve and bundle back up in the coat. "Guess there's no stopping you, huh?"

"Let's just keep walking." Sam said as he started off again. "The sooner we get there the better."

On they walked, covering the mile as fast as Sam could go, but not fast enough in his opinion. By the time they saw the lights of the gas station, the exercise had warmed Sam up some and he ignored the deep ache in his muscles to pick up the pace and reach the pay phone that awaited them on the side of the building.

It was too difficult to hide the tremor in his hand when he grabbed the receiver and he shrugged off Tom's offer to call for him. He had to do this...had to hear Dean's voice for himself if he answered. Sending up a silent prayer, he dropped the coins in the slot and quickly dialed, holding his breath and waiting for an answer.

After two rings, he started to feel his heart drop thinking that he would only get his brother's voicemail again, but when he heard the line pick up and Dean's quick "Hello?" He was almost too excited to speak.

"Who is this?" He heard Dean ask.

Sam nearly sank in relief, letting go of the breath he was holding, fighting off a wave of dizziness and almost unaware that Tom had grabbed him by the arm to hold him steady.

"Dean?"

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thanks to everyone that has read, commented, favorited or alerted this story. I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Cheers! :D**_

**Part Five: My Wild Calling**

Dean would have jumped if he wasn't driving when the phone suddenly rang next to him. He had tossed it earlier into the passenger seat when he had become too frustrated with repeatedly calling Sam to only getting his voicemail and had to scramble for it, accidentally dropping it onto the floorboard.

Swearing, he pulled the car over to the shoulder and stopped, reaching over the seats to find it and grimacing when the action of bending over pulled at the sores on his chest and reminded him that the pain from his run-in with Kubrick wouldn't be going away anytime soon. Finally finding the phone, he checked the caller ID quickly, but was disappointed to see that it wasn't Sam's number. However, he still held out hope that it might be his wayward brother.

"Hello?" He flipped the phone open and answered hastily.

There was no response on the other end for a fraction of a second and Dean's heart sank thinking that it might just be someone calling the wrong number. "Who is this?" he asked

He heard a sharp intake of breath and then a meek "Dean?"

Sinking down in his seat, Dean sighed heavily in relief. "Sam?"

"Oh thank God." Sam breathed a shuddering breath. "Where are you? You okay?"

"I should ask you the same, but I'm alright...I've been looking for you everywhere, dude. Where are you...you hurt?" Dean asked, not liking the tone of Sam's voice. He could recognize his brother's sick or injured voice anywhere.

"M'okay..." Sam's replied, sounding oddly breathless and strained, sending out signals to his older brother that he was anything but. "What happened to you?"

"Long story...I'll tell it when I get to you. Where're you at?"

Sam gave out the directions quickly and after Dean hung up, he was flooring the accelerator and barreling down the wet stretch of highway leading out of town. He hadn't bothered to ask how Sam had ended up so far out, but right then he didn't much care. Getting to him was more important.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Sam hung up the phone, relieved to hear Dean's voice and his assurances that he was on the way. Feeling a great burden lift off his shoulders just knowing he was alive, but still worried by the way his brother lied to him about being alright, he turned to Tom. "Dean's coming...but he didn't sound good. He could be hurt."

"How can you tell that over the phone?"

Sam shook his head. "I just could." Taking a step back from the phone, Sam was suddenly and unexpectedly attacked by a wave of light-headedness.

"Good God, Sam." Tom grabbed his arm again and led him over to a bench, sitting him down. "Sit down before you eat the sidewalk."

Now that the adrenaline that had been fueling him to find Dean had gone, Sam could feel every ache and every pain that wracked his body. Shivering as he sat, he pulled the coat in on himself closer and bowed his head as if it might chase away the throbbing in his head and body.

"I'm going in to get you water." Tom explained as he headed into the Gas station's store.

Sam lowered his head even further and closed his eyes thinking to rest them for just a minute and was surprised to find someone slapping his face what he thought was only moments later.

"Sam?...Sammy?" Pulling weary eyes open, Sam peered up and into a welcome if not a little battered sight.

"Dean?...you look like crap." He pointed out, taking in the black, puffy eye, swollen, red cheek and scabbed lip.

"Right back at ya, man..." Dean retorted, looking him over. "what ya doing sleeping out here? And what the hell are you wearing and where is your shoe? " He asked.

"Lost my shoe...Was tired." Sam explained as if it wasn't obvious. Coming around fully, Sam looked about. "Where's Tom?" He asked.

Dean looked confused. "Who's Tom?"

"He was just here...he went into the store."

Sam felt Dean's cool hand land on his forehead. "You're burning up, Sam. There's no one else here except for the attendant."

Sam shot up. "No..I wasn't hallucinating. He was just here...he's gotta be around somewhere." Brushing off Dean's restraining hand, Sam got up and looked from left to right, seeing no sign of him "We need find him..."

"Whoa, Sam...wait." Dean tried to stop him, but Sam was already moving towards the entrance of the store and walking in, going straight to the counter.

"Have you seen an older man come in here?" Sam asked the attendant when she looked up from her magazine.

"You mean old Tom?" She asked. "Yeah...I think he went to the bathroom. Come to think of it...he's been in there a while..."

Dean followed as Sam darted for the restroom and opened the door, hurrying in. On the floor, Tom lay face down in front of the stalls, a small puddle of blood laying under his temple.

"Tom!" Sam called as he came to the older man's side and felt for a pulse. Feeling it was strong and steady, he was relieved to see him begin to move, groaning as he came to.

"Tom...Tom? What happened?'

"Uhhhh..." Tom groaned, trying to sit up, swaying a little. "Something pushed me into the sink." He grabbed his head then pulled his hand away, seeing the blood.

"Brad?" Sam asked and Tom nodded. Dean came nearer then grabbed some paper towels, handing them to Sam so he could use them to staunch the flow of blood from Tom's temple.

"Who's Brad?" Dean asked.

"Who're you?" Tom came back at him.

"Tom...this is Dean, my brother. " Sam began the introductions. "Dean...this is Tom, he helped me and I promised we would help him in return."

"Ooookay..." Dean on confused. "Someone gonna tell me what's going on here?"

Sam looked up at Dean as he helped Tom from the floor. "Brad's an angry spirit, Dean."

Still perplexed, Dean asked sharply. "Wait...you telling me that you go missing for a few hours and manage to pick up a ghost?"

"Basically." Sam shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Yeah."

Dean shook his head and threw up his hands, but didn't seem all that surprised by the improbability of it all.

"Magnet, Sam...You're such a magnet."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Tom held the wad of paper towels to head while Dean helped him into the backseat. Sam came around and took his usual spot after grabbing the bag with his extra clothes and shoes in and as soon as he was in, he looked back at the older man.

"I thought he wasn't able to leave the woods." Tom started. "Why is he out here now?"

Sam shook his head, pulling on dry pair of socks and shoes, almost sighing in contentment as they warmed his chilled feet. "I can only guess that he's latched onto you somehow...must have heard us talking about taking him out for good and followed us out of the woods to try to stop us."

Dean had taken his seat behind the wheel, listening to the exchange. "Guess this means we need to find this Brad guy's body then."

"Yeah..." Sam agreed. "Tom...you know where Brad is buried?"

"Forest lawn cemetery, just north of town. He was a foster kid and no one claimed his body, so the state had him buried here in town...so we're gonna do this now?"

"If this Brad's onto us like Sam thinks, then he's just gonna follow us wherever we go and seeing as how it's the dead of the night, we might as well get this over with before daylight." Dean explained, taking a long side glance at Sam.

Sam could almost feel his brother's eyes on him and asking questions about his ability to do the job right then. Sam felt like crap, that was sure, but waiting until he was 100% wasn't going to happen if Brad was going to keep popping up unexpectedly and going after Tom. Better that they got this over with now. Plus, he was also worried about Dean. He looked like had been through the wringer and once all this was over with, they could find a room, far, far, far away from here where they both could recoup from these horrible, terrible last few days.

"So...you gonna explain all of this?" Dean asked Sam once they were on the road. Taking a deep breath, Sam started from the beginning and told his story about going out to look for Dean, falling in the water, finding his way to the camp and etc. Sam demanded the same from his brother, needing to know the whole story behind his disappearance as well. Dean was rather matter-of-fact about his run-in with Kubrick and Cready, leaving out several of the details, especially the whole battery/electrocution thing, not wanting Sam to get all guilt-ridden about him being kidnapped and tortured because of him.

Dean would recover and was already feeling somewhat better now that he found Sam and the physical sores on his chest from it he would be careful to keep hidden from his little brother. He was already all in knots knowing that Dean was going to Hell for him, why add to his little brother's feelings of complicity.

Sam eyed him, knowing he was holding something back, but Dean turned back to look at the road, driving on. The highway was dark and wet while it continued to drizzle out, the only light illuminating it came from the Impala's headlights when suddenly a figure appeared before him standing in the middle of the road, his pale face lit up by car's high-beams.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

"Shit!" Dean cursed as he stomped on the brakes, the wheels of the car sliding on the slick asphalt and fishtailing.

Dean fought for control of the car while it spun towards the shoulder, but he was unable to stop it's momentum before it went front-end first into a ditch, sinking into it's soggy bottom.

The impact sent all three forward, Dean taking a header into the steering wheel while Sam braced himself against the dash. In the backseat, Tom was also flung, but stayed mostly secure in his seatbelt.

When everything finally came to a stop, Sam groaned at the new jarring his shoulder had taken, but was grateful his seatbelt had held, but when he glanced over at his brother seeing him slumped over the steering wheel, his heart began to race.

"Dean!" He shouted, unbuckling himself and reaching over to feel for a pulse. Fortunately as soon as Sam touched him, Dean started to stir and moan softly before attempting to lift his head up. Turning to look over at Sam, he peered at him with glassy, unfocused eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked, trying to get him to respond. Blinking several times Dean turned back to take in the sight of his car's front end stuck in the mud of the ditch. "Dean?" Sam asked again when he didn't say anything.

Dean finally faced back to his brother. " You okay?"

"Yeah" Sam came back in a short clip, but grabbed his shoulder where it burned in pain.

"Tom?" He asked his backseat passenger and got coarse "I'm fine" in return.

"S' that was Brad?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

Looking back out the windshield, Dean's face tightened and his jaw clenched. "That kid is so toast."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam put the gear into reverse once again while Tom and Dean leaned into the front end, gritting their teeth and exerting all of their strength into freeing the car from the ditch. Sam gunned the engine, spinning the back wheels.

"C'mon...c'mon." He encouraged the car to move, fearing that it would only fall forward back into the ditch like it already had several times before. However, this time the back wheels caught onto the stony shoulder and took hold. Tom and Dean pushed with all of their might and Sam pressed down on the accelerator until the front end started to come free of the mud, the back wheels pulling it out completely until the whole car was back on the pavement.

Sighing and completely spent, Sam slid the gear into park then slumped back into the seat, taking a moment to compose himself before Tom and his brother came back up. He didn't want to admit how tired, chilled and achy he felt because if he did, Dean would notice and he would worry, most likely deciding that he would have to stay behind while he went out alone to torch Brad's corpse. Given the way Dean moved stiffly and the way his eyes held a glazed look that spoke of concussion, he wasn't about to let him go it alone without back-up.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Sam shored up his reserves and pushed aside the weariness, bracing himself for work they still had to do.

Dean opened the car door, his face a mix of exhaustion and irritation.

"Alright...let's get this crap over with." He grumbled, making gestures for Sam to scootch over so he could drive.

"Can you even see straight, Dean?" Sam asked, not about to let his concussed brother drive. "I'll drive."

"Not a chance, Sam. Have you looked in a mirror yourself lately?" He argued back.

"Are you two like this all of the time?" Tom snapped. "Why don't you just let me drive and quit your bickering?"

There really wasn't any arguing with the older man as he shooed them both away from the front seat

With Tom at the wheel after that, it wasn't too long long before they were through the gates of the cemetery. It was large and the road through the graveyard took them through many curves. "You know where his grave is?" Dean asked, peering through the dark.

Tom just nodded gravely and led them to a lonely, forgotten area covered with weeds and overgrown grass. Parking the car, Dean looked over at Sam, who was looking worse with each passing minute. He wasn't happy about taking Sam out to go dig up a grave in the cold when he looked like he could keel over at any minute, but true to his nature, Sam stubbornly refused to be fussed over and was out of the car before Dean could even stop the engine.

Coming around the back to the trunk, Dean joined Sam in gathering the supplies they would need. Sam loaded the shotguns with rock-salt, grabbed a couple of iron knives, putting one in his pocket and handing off the other to his brother while Dean pulled out a couple of shovels then grabbed flashlights, salt and kerosene before shoving them inside his carry-all.

Slamming the trunk lid, Dean took another good look at his brother and saw him staring at him as well, giving him as much of a critical once over of his physical condition as he was giving him. Seeing that neither of them was going to allow the other to go on with out the other, Sam turned and looked around for Tom.

He saw him standing in front of the gravestone they were targeting, his face grim and sad. Sam headed over to him and stood by his side.

"Can't believe I'm doing this. It feels like he'll be dying all over again and its all on me." Tom spoke up.

"Better this way." Dean said as he dropped the shovels on the ground and handed a flashlight over to Sam. "He won't be able to hurt you or anyone else after this."

Tom eyed Dean, but took up one of the shovels with determination and started to dig into the earth. Silently, Sam and Dean agreed on their jobs, Sam's arm was just to painful to dig, so he stood watch, shotgun at the ready while Dean helped Tom with unearthing the grave.

For the most part it was quiet while they dug, the only noises the scraping of the shovels as they removed the dirt and the occasional grunt from Tom and Dean as they strained.

While he held the flashlight and let the other two men work, Sam kept a scanning eye on their surroundings, trying to stay alert for any sign of Brad showing up, but his body was opposed to the idea and he found himself taking a seat when his weary muscles threatened to betray him.

His eyes wanted to close, to rest for just a second, but he resisted that temptation. Even so, the slow progress Tom and Dean were making coupled with steady buzzing going on in his head had him losing the fight.

"Sam!" Dean called out and he snapped back to alertness. Looking down, he found Tom and Dean still in the hole, his brother casting a concerned yet irritated stare his way. "Hey...you're dropping the flashlight."

"Sorry." Sam shook his head, clearing away some of the cobwebs in his brain. Standing up again with a grunt, he decided it best to keep moving in order to stay on his toes.

Hearing a thunk as his shovel met some hard resistance when he struck it into the ground again, Tom called out. "I think we have something here."

Sam looked down into the grave form up above while Dean quickly helped Tom clear away the dirt from the top of the coffin he had just struck.

Dean was just about to pry open the lid when the flashlight beam from above cut out again. "Sam...the light!" He called out, needing it to see what he was doing. However, when the light didn't return and Sam didn't respond, Dean felt a tingling go up and down his spine. A cold wind kicked loose leaves and debris into the grave and he knew right away that they were in trouble.

"Open it up fast!" He shouted at Tom, his pulse ratcheting up. "And no matter what you hear up there, get the body salted and lit as soon as you can."

Without allowing Tom the chance to ask what was going on, Dean climbed out of the hole as quickly as he possibly could, but far slower than he would have cared for thanks to his pounding headache. Once on the surface he found the flashlight discarded on the ground, but his brother no where in sight.

"Sam!" He called out, dropping his shovel and reaching for his shotgun. But, before he could even get another breath in to shout for his brother one more time, he was tackled from his blind-spot and sent flying, wrenching the shotgun from his hands. Falling to the hard ground on his back, Dean felt all of the air in his lungs escape, leaving him momentarily breathless.

There was no time to recover before his attacker was on him again, this time with the shovel he had dropped in his clutches. The dead kid's face practically glowed with anger as he advanced with unearthly speed and swung the shovel's heavy spade toward Dean's head. Rolling sideways and jumping to his feet, Dean barely escaped having his head caved in when the shovel hit the ground with a loud thud.

Brad quickly raised the shovel once again and faced off with Dean, his lip curling into a snarl while he took another wild swing at him. Ducking, the shovel whipped over Dean's head close enough for him to feel the displaced air under it blow his hair, but seeing an opportunity open up when Brad left his mid-section unguarded from his move, he sprung forward like a line-backer and barreled into his chest, catching the incensed spirit by surprise and causing him to drop the shovel.

Brad growled in terrible anger, shoving Dean in the chest and flinging him backwards with all of his paranormal strength. Crashing backward and striking a large stone monument, Dean felt a blinding pain lance his side when a bone in his ribcage shifted, but before he fell forward he managed to catch himself from face-planting by throwing out his hands. On all fours, Dean looked up to see Brad coming towards him again, however his body was in full-on rebellion mode and he knew he was too beaten to put up much more of a fight.

Darkness was edging in on Dean's vision while he struggled to pull in air through his battered ribcage and passing out from the pain was imminent. Brad's eyes filled with hatred as he bent down to retrieve the shovel he had dropped earlier, his intentions towards Dean clear.

Suddenly a shot-gun blast filled the air and echoed across the grounds of the cemetery and Brad disappeared, the shovel falling the ground with a clatter. Standing behind the space the spirit of the teenager used to occupy, Sam lowered the still smoking gun, wobbling a little unsteadily.

Struggling to his feet and clutching his side, Dean breathed heavily, fighting the dizziness and thumping pain in his head to make it over to his brother.

"Hey...you okay?" Dean asked. Sam's temple bled profusely, but looked mostly superficial, however when he got close enough to touch him, he suddenly pitched forward. Dean was almost not fast enough to catch him, but did, dragging his half-conscious little brother back to the grave despite the pain he himself was in. He could feel the heat coming off of Sam, sending his anxiety soaring, but they still had a spirit to send packing before he could come back and strike again as he didn't think either one of them would be able to fight him anymore.

Practically collapsing beside the grave, Dean set Sam, who was blearily looking up at his big brother now, against the headstone.

"Dean?...sorry...let him get the jump on me..." Sam muttered, his head sinking and eyes slowly blinking.

" S'okay, Sam." Dean quickly absolved him of any guilt before he scooted over to glance down into the open grave.

Tom was in the middle of dousing the body with the lighter fluid and finished off the rest of the bottle, dropping it aside.

"Is it salted?" Dean wheezed out to the older man while he scrambled out of the hole.

"Yeah...used the whole bag."

"Good..." Dean stonily replied, pulling out a book of matches and lightening them up. He tossed them into the coffin and watched with grim satisfaction as the fire took hold and turned into a raging inferno. "Sayonara, brat." He added just before the world went black.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Sunlight streamed into his face and he wished the light would just go away and let him sleep. When it didn't, he gave up any further efforts to rest, especially since the dull ache he had been feeling before in his ribs was becoming too bothersome to ignore any further.

Cracking his eyes open and squinting where the sun hit his eyes from the open curtains, Dean looked about the unfamiliar room in confusion. He knew from experience that he was in a hospital, but the details of how he ended up there were still fuzzy. It wasn't until and grizzly face came into his bleary view that he finally remembered what had happened.

"Hey kid." Tom greeted him. "Good to see you awake."

Dean groaned as he tried to sit up a little further, but Tom stopped him. "Don't try move, you cracked some ribs. Let me put up your bed." Tom reached over and pressed the button on the side-rails of the bed that made the head rise.

"Thanks." Dean croaked back, taking another look around. "Where's Sam?"

"Right over there." Tom pointed to his side. A curtain was drawn up between them, blocking Dean's view of his brother.

"S'he okay?"

"Yeah..He's sleeping right now. He has a pretty nasty infection, but the antibiotics he's on should clear it up soon. You were the one we were most worried about...grade five concussion...doctors said it doesn't get much worse without there being some bleeding in your brain. Damn lucky if you ask me."

"Lucky?...man, that is not how I would describe my life." Dean grumbled mostly to himself, but he still had more questions for the older man. "You brought us in?"

"Yup...I didn't think I could treat you both myself, so I drove you here straight from the cemetery. Wasn't easy. Had to clean up the mess in the graveyard first then haul the two of you out of there, but I managed. I told the doctors and the police that I found you guys like this and they pretty much bought it. It was a little harder trying to explain away Sam's gunshot wound and the burns on your chest, but I played dumb...kind of I figured that the truth was better kept just between the three of us. But, I figure the police might be back to ask questions now that you're awake."

Dean nodded his thanks for the head's up, neither he nor Sam needed the police looking into their injuries, so the sooner they could both get out of there the better.

"By the way...how did you two end up in such a state before I even met you?" Tom asked inquisitively. "I don't think you either one of ya has been telling the whole story."

"You don't want to know...let's just call it bad luck." Was all Dean replied with.

"That's all Sam said too...guess you ain't gonna tell me, so I'm not gonna press it." Tom got up from his chair and grabbed his coat. "Well...I better be going...Just want to say goodbye to Sam first."

Tom walked over to the curtain and pulled it back. The motion and the noise next to his bed stirred Sam from his sleep and he opened his eyes.

"Hey, Sam." Tom greeted him. "Someone's awake and wants to say hi." He moved out of the way and finally got a good look at his brother. Considering all that they had been through the last few days, he didn't look too bad. He still had dark circles under his eyes and his arm was slung up across his chest, but otherwise he knew that he would be alright which made Dean sigh in relief.

Sam too appeared to have a weight lift off his chest and he grinned a little seeing him awake. "Dean...you were out for so long..."

Dean waved off his concerns. "I'm okay..."

"Well, I'll let you two catch up." Tom began to excuse himself. "I just wanted to thank you both for helping me..you've given me my freedom back and for that, I'm in your debt." Tom started to back up and head for the door.

"Wait..." Sam called out to him just before Tom's hand could reach for the door. "Ya know, Tom. Now that Brad's gone I think you should seriously think about forgiving yourself. It wasn't your fault that he died and now that he's moved on...maybe you should too."

Tom gave Sam a melancholy grin and nodded. "I'll try...I've already been thinking about selling the camp and moving back to the city. Guess it's about time I joined the rest of society." He took a deep breath and blew it out before reaching again for the door handle. "Anyway,...you two take care now."

Without another word, Tom was out of the room leaving Sam and Dean to themselves. As soon as they were alone, Dean stripped his blanket off and groaned as he rolled out of bed, clutching his side tight while he searched for his clothes.

"Ready to blow this popsicle stand, Sammy?" He asked as soon as he found his pants.

"Do you even have to ask?" Sam replied, taking off his blanket as well while trying and failing to suppress a yawn. Sticking around in a hospital when the police might come at any time asking questions really wasn't an option no matter how lousy either of them felt.

Dean was careful to write down Sam's antibiotic prescription before they left, but decided that a trip to the pharmacy again in this town was out of the question to which Sam readily agreed.

Hightailing it out of town, their initial rush to get out of Dodge quickly lost steam and they only made it as far as the next county before both of them were too tired to keep going much further. After picking up Sam's antibiotics and plenty of painkillers for the both of them at a grocery store pharmacy thirty miles from the hospital, they settled for the nearest motel and both collapsed on their beds.

Dean was almost asleep when Sam's voice floated across the room.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Wha?" He answered blearily.

"I was just thinking..."

"You're always thinking, Sam."

"What if our bad luck is actually good luck for other people."

"What are you talking about?' Dean grumbled, rubbing his aching head.

"It's like this..., if you hadn't been taken by Kubrick and Cready then I wouldn't have come looking for you, fallen into the water and met Tom. It was all by chance that we were able to help him. Sure it sucks for us, but at least some good came out of it."

"Is there a point in you keeping me awake, Sam?"

"I'm just saying...ya know...sure, we may be cursed or just chronically unlucky, but in the long run we do a lot of good, so maybe we're not so unlucky after all. I mean, you always got my back and I'll always have yours...so...I guess what I'm saying is...well...I feel pretty lucky to have you as my brother."

Sam finished speaking and was met with silence. "Dean?" He turned his head and frowned. Dean's eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out into the smooth rythyms of sleep. Sam sighed and sank down into his pillow, feeling kinda silly for opening up to his brother like he had only for him to not hear it.

Closing his eyes, Sam himself decided he might as well get some sleep too when just before he could drift off, he heard Dean mutter beside him.

"Me too, Sammy."

**The End**


End file.
